Naturally he spent most of his time on the Red Road. When he heard voices in the little church that afternoon, he strolled to the door just for the urgent want of something to do. When he heard Dot's voice, he went in and sat down in the extreme back seat, much to the discomfiture of a nervous member of the choir. After the practice was over he shook hands with the clergyman's wife who had officiated at the little organ. He knew her very well; she had found these lodgings for him, and had sent him tomatoes on one occasion and some of her own orange wine, marvellously nasty stuff, on another. He asked after her husband, praised the views, thought the weather would change, said nothing bitter about the landlady's daughter, and offered to preside at the organ the next Sunday. Then he asked to be introduced to the girl with the beautiful voice. A quarter of an hour later he was walking home with Dot. Her books--she had three of them--were his excuse, and the fact that he had been walking that way before he turned in at the church. All the way they talked music. Dot's eyes were bright, her speech eager. What a pleasant, unlooked for change this was for her! She knew him well by repute, as indeed did everyone in Sydney--she had been to his concerts, she played his compositions,--some of her friends had been his pupils,--he seemed more like an old than a new friend by the time they reached the top of the second hill. Half way down they noticed the gathering clouds; by the time they reached the gate it had begun to rain heavily. Dot did not hesitate a moment. He had been ill she knew: a wetting might prove serious. 'You must come in,' she said, pushing open her little gate, 'come and wait till it clears.' She preceded him up the path and sprang up the verandah steps into shelter, shaking the raindrops off her little short curls and laughing breathlessly after the few minutes' hurry. 'What a _dear_ little girl!' he said to himself, following with the utmost gladness. He had never spent in all his life a pleasanter hour than the next one. His artistic eye was charmed with the arrangements of the simple drawing-room, it was a real pleasure to run his fingers upon a good piano once more--here was all the music that made the earth a happy abiding place, and above all there was the presence of the sweet little girl with short soft curls, wide, eager eyes, and a voice truly wonderful. Oh the beautiful hour it was! They had both gone straight to the piano as naturally as ducks go to water; they tried whole pages of different operas together, and went twice through some of the songs, just for the sheer pleasure of singing. Then he played some Beethoven she had never found beautiful before, and after that she played at his request piece after piece, and he was surprised at her culture. He almost feared once or twice that the whole occurrence was an enchanted dream which would fade presently.